The way we met
by FrancescaBoscorelli
Summary: They had crossed paths before, for a brief moment, when he pretended to be someone else and she didn't expect to feel the way she did. AU. Joan/Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: okay so here's the thing. When I incially wrote my first story "arguments, decisions and unexpected vistors" it was supposed to be the only one, but then a nice reviewe left me a kind review asking me to write more. So I did, that's how the series "Moments" when I continued writing this stories another person left a review, this time on Tumblr, asking me to write the "how Joan and Sherlock became a couple" and even though I didn't want to write it I couldn't stop thinking about it so I came up with this idea; _**Joan and Sherlock met before, in a different situation, in a different place and he made up a story about him that was not real just because he felt like being someone else for a night, and then he met Joan and they made a connection. Like they both felt there was something there, and they clicked. That's how everything started. This story is how everything begun. **_

_**This story is also part of my Alternative Universe in which Joan and Sherlock are together. The rest of the stories will be after this, after the situations of this story took place. **_

Please don't forget to review and to read my other stories as well.

Fran

* * *

She was excited, eager and nervous at the same time. Meeting a new client always freaked her out a bit, maybe because some of them weren't very happy to have someone following them around virtually every single moment. Others, though, like her last one, were grateful for receiving as much help as they could during that hard process.

"I'm telling you Joanie, we should celebrate you had another satisfied client and you got a new job." her friend Emily told her, while they shared a cup of coffee at home. "There's this new club…"

"No, no parties and no clubs." Joan told her, shaking her head at her best friends suggestion.

"Why not? Come on, Joanie, it would be fun." Emily insisted, her eagerness and happiness forced Joan to accept, plus the smile on her face made her change her mind quickly. "Besides we will only stay on for a little while, I promise."

"Fine, but only with one condition. Just for an hour or two."

"Perfect."  
Xxxxxxx

He dropped his bag on his already made and clean bed. Looking at his surroundings, to the familiar white painting on the walls, the hospital-looking room (even the smell resembled it, something he would not forget very easily) he sighed with relief. His two months were due, he had done what his father had asked him (ordered him) and he was now a brand new, drug free man. He was proud of himself, being able to put up with so many sappy stories, people sharing about their personal experiences spreading others with never-ending sadness was infuriating. He had managed, hence the pride, not to throw up on their faces as they spoke.

He had no excuse for his drug use. He had nothing and no one to blame, he had done everything on his own because he wanted to. Unlike others who blame their tragedies, their tough lives, on others, he didn't. Other than having lost someone he cared about, which he refused to talk about, nothing more had forced him to become a drug addict. No one had forced him to enter rehab either, except for his father, just because he was ashamed of what his only son had become.

But now he was out of it. He had put this chapter of his life out of the way, now he was moving on, into the new Sherlock Holmes.

Except now it was Sherlock plus companion. Sadly, to him, being clean meant someone walking along with him for the next seven months to assure he was, in fact, clean. That was a step he couldn't avoid, much to his dismay.

"So, Holmes, you got a place to stay, dude?" Rolan asked him. The only friend he had made inside the facility was an ex-professor, who had lost his way after getting fired from his last place of work and had managed to not only become a drug addict, but also lose his family in the process. The only reason why they had become friends, was because he was the only one who didn't feel sorry for himself and blamed only himself for his fate.

"Yes. My father owns a house in the city." Sherlock told him, packing his last remaining items as he spoke.

"Awesome." Rolan spoke. "So me and a few boys were planning a little bit of a celebration now that we're out, just clubbing for a little while. Wanna join us?"

"I don't think clubbing is the right way to celebrate, for us." Sherlock told him.

"If you're talking about the temptations and willpower, I think this is the best way of testing exactly that". the man responded. Sherlock hesitated for a minute before giving him an answer.

He was right about testing their willpower now they were out, and he did need fresh air and a new environment.

"Fine, I'll go." Sherlock responded. "Only for a couple of hours"

"Excellent." Rolan answered. "I'll tell the boys."

* * *

She could hear the music from miles away, even a few blocks before actually being there, the sound was so loud her heart pounded with the beat. She had forgotten the last time she had gone out with her friends, it had been years probably, when they celebrated passing an exam or saving someone from an upcoming dead. Now, after the last events in her life, she felt there wasn't really a reason to celebrate or even to go out, too many memories of her doctor days perhaps.

They reached the club, the line outside was never-ending, but Emily somehow had managed to get them inside without having to stand outside in the cold.

If the music outside was loud, inside was ten times worse. She had to stop herself from covering her ears as they walked in, Emily holding her arm tightly.

She looked at her surroundings; the club was crowded with young boys and girls dancing at the beat. The bar, just like the dance floor, was packed. Joan suddenly felt very out of place.

"I'm gonna get a few drinks, okay?" Emily yelled, that being the only way of actually talking to one another.

"Sure!" Joan yelled back, watching as her friend disappeared among the crowd.  
She stood in the same spot for ten minutes before deciding to move further into it.

* * *

The minute he stepped inside the packed loud club, he regretted it. His head was spinning from the smoke and the loud music pounding in his ears.  
Why his friend would decide this was a good way of celebrating being out of rehab was beyond him. And why he had accepted was another.

"I'm gonna get some drinks." Rolan yelled, Sherlock grabbed his arm before he could move further "Coke, not alcohol."

He was gone, into the sea of people, before he could say another word.

That's when he saw her, standing a few feet away from him, looking as lost and out of place as he was. Long dark hair cascading down her back in the dim light, he felt his feet gravitating immediately towards her for some strange reason, unable to control the sudden urge to know the woman before him.

She saw him standing a few feet away from her, felt his eyes on her and an involuntary shiver ran down her spine. He stared at her, like a hawk, his eyes boring her very soul, she trembled when he took slow steps towards her but didn't move away when he approached, and in fact she was secretly dying for him to move closer.

"Hello." he spoke. Her insides melted at the sound of his British accent, but even more when she could see his dark blue eyes shining.

"Hi." she greeted him.

"You look as lost as I am." Sherlock told her, a playful smile on his face. She smiled back, nodding slowly.

"Yes, that's because I am." she responded. "I haven't done this in forever."

"Me too." he spoke. "Are you alone?"

"No, I'm with a friend. You?"

"Yes, he's…" He looked around, realizing Rolan had been gone for way too long, he frowned when he didn't spot him. "Lost in the sea of people, I believe."

"I think we have both lost a friend." Joan spoke, imitating Sherlock's moves. Emily was nowhere to be found.

"I can't say I didn't see that coming." he confessed. She laughed softly. Somehow he found that to be the sweetest, most perfect sound in the world. He blamed the fact that he hadn't been with a woman in almost seven months, or perhaps she was in fact as fascinating and beautiful as he thought.

"I'm Joan." she introduced herself, rising her hand. He hesitated, and then took it firmly between his own

"I'm…Steve" he spoke quickly.

There was no explanation as to why he lied, why he felt the need to disguise himself as someone else, but for tonight it felt right. He didn't want to be Sherlock _'the drug addict'_, he wanted to be Steve, someone with no past at all.

"Nice to meet you, Steve." she greeted, allowing her hand to linger a little bit longer between his strong one, feeling a warmth travelling from the tip of her finger and into her soul.

"Would you like to go out, away from here?" he asked her, finding a brand new personality in this persona, as if he were someone new.

"Yes." she responded quickly, taking aback by her own boldness. He was, after all, a stranger and she never went out with strangers. Him, however, made her feel safe for some reason.

They walked out together, their hands barely touching but enough to feel each other's warmth.

**Tbc**

**love it? hate it? let me know!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: thank you for reading and reviewing! Your words and support make my day. I love you all!**

**Big hugs to EuphoriaLily for helping me out. You rule!**

**Fran**

* * *

The wind felt cold against her warm cheeks, making her feel fresh and comfortable. She breathed in as they walked together into the dark night, crashing into a few teenagers who were eager to walk into the club. She smiled at their energy, wishing she could have it too.

They walked into the city, cars passing by, lights flickering, different smells crashing into his nostrils. He found everything invigorating, exciting, having been locked up for too long, engaged into the same routine day after day, seeing and talking to the same people. This brand new moment was perfect to him.

"You don't look a clubbing type of man." she told him, walking side by side, her hands deep in her pockets.

"What does a clubbing type of man looks like?" he asked, curious to know her answer. She was right, clubs were definitely not his favourite thing.

"I don't know, happy? Comfortable?" She told him. "You looked like you were in pain."

"I was." he confessed. "And you were right, I'm definitely not a clubbing man at all."

"Then what were you doing there?" She asked. "If you don't mind my asking."

He hesitated on his answer again. This new persona was not a drug addict, he reminded himself, this man had a completely different story, probably involving a different ending as well.

"I was celebrating my arrival to the big apple." he lied. "As you can tell I am not from around here."

"Where are you from, exactly."

"London. Born and raised." he spoke, shivering when a sudden cold wind hit him. "You?"

"New York city, born and raised." she spoke. "Are you staying here long?"

"Maybe. I haven't decided yet." That much was true. Part of him wanted to go back home, to his people, to his city. But the other, a big part of him, wanted to stay here and start a brand new life, away from the memories that brought him there. "What about you? You didn't look like a clubbing type of woman either."

"Oh right. I was celebrating getting a new job." she told him. "My friend, Emily, she thought it was a good idea to go out. I thought it was a good idea too. At least for a moment."

"What kind of job do you do?"

"I'm a sober companion, for drug addicts.

He flinched, his heart pounded hard inside his chest, suddenly having a vivid reminder of what he was, or used to be.

"Oh that sounds…interesting."

"It is. I get to know new people with all kinds of stories, and I get the chance to help them in their recovery. It's a long process, but invigorating nonetheless."

He wondered, for a second, if his sober companion was going to be like her. Will he, or she, understand him like she could? Or will her be hard and tough? His heart wished she could be the one.

"What about you? What do you do for a living? Or did, back in London."

"I was a consultant detective for Scotland Yard." he said simply, watching as she stared at him in awe.

"A detective? Really?"

"Not a gun and badge one. I merely assisted them in some cases, I didn't have permission to use a gun."

"That does sound fascinating." she told him, she couldn't help but being amazed by him.

"It is…was." he whispered. She couldn't help but notice a hint of melancholy in his voice as he spoke, probably his time in London hadn't been good and that brought bad memories.

"Well, if you decide to stay, I could show you the city." she suggested, quickly changing the subject at noticing how down he looked.

"Thank you, that would be lovely." He smiled. Soon he found himself smiling more, her presence soothing him somehow.

They walked along a few more blocks, in silence, each of them finding excuses to move a little close to one another. The city lights flickered, people walked by laughing and smiling. Sherlock was fascinated by all the energy surrounding him in the new city he would now call home. But he thought the woman next to him was what made everything special.

They lost track of time, first time it happened to him since arrived in New York City, his staying locked in that facility making his life so boring and excruciating long each passing day. Now, as they kept walking and walking, he barely noticed the hour passing before him.

Her phone rang, distantly (or so she thought), her brain immediately blocking the sound, ignoring it, knowing who it was. Sherlock sighed, an interruption like this meant their time was over, something he feared to happen but knew very well it would sooner or later. He had prayed for it to happen later rather than sooner.

She took the phone from her pocket, watching the screen flicker once, twice, the name on the screen big and visible; Emily. She then remembered she had left her friend alone, she was probably worried at her disappearance.

"It's my friend." she told Sherlock. He nodded slowly, understanding she couldn't ignore it. "She must be worried."

"Go ahead. Answer her."

She took the call, her phone feeling cold against her ear, and Emily's voice poured from it quickly, her distressed voice disturbing her, but not surprising her at all.

"_Where are you? I've been looking for you everywhere!"_ her friend questioned her. She didn't want to give much away, she didn't want her friend to question her about how and why she went out with a complete stranger. She didn't want to tell, because she couldn't even explain it herself.

"Sorry, I'm out." Joan told her, pressing her phone against her ear, the noise surrounding her making the conversation hard to perform. "I couldn't find you so I went out of the club."

"_Alone?"_ Emily asked. Joan couldn't help the slight warmth creeping on her cheeks, she stared at the man before her, thinking about her answer carefully.

"No, I met…a friend."

A friend. Sherlock thought. He hardly thought of her as a friend, mainly because he didn't have any, but also because deep inside he thought about her otherwise. A lifesaver, yes, something like that. She had, after all, saved him from dying of boredom inside that club. If it wasn't for her presence, he could be lost, literally, in the enormous city.

So yes, she was definitely not a friend.

"_And you left with him?"_ Emily asked again.

"Yes, we're walking around." Joan told her, he noticed him smiling softly.

"_Okay then, while you and your friend walk around, I'm going home."_ Emily spoke. _"I'll meet you there, bye."_

"Sure, bye."

She hung up, playing with her phone in her hand nervously. She felt his eyes on her, just like he had done in the club, his eyes penetrating her, making her insides twist. He was so incredibly attractive and mysterious, he captivated her, she was immediately pulled into knowing more about him.

But then reality hit her. He was here for a visit, he wasn't meant to stay, which only meant they wouldn't see each other anymore. She couldn't grow attached to someone who would part in any moment.  
"Well…I think I should go." she whispered. He nodded, trying as hard as he could to hide his sadness. "It's late and I'm meeting my new client tomorrow…"

"Yes, of course." he told her.

"It was nice meeting you, Steve." she spoke, once again raising her hand to shake his. He watched her, hesitating again, but finally he took her hand again. She felt a cold shiver running up and down her back.

"Nice meeting you too, Joan." he murmured.

They stood there, holding each other's hand tightly, lost in each other's eyes. Sherlock felt as if his body at mind of his own as he moved closer to her, creating a small gap between them. Joan remained on her spot, unable to move. His face, ever so slightly, moved slowly towards her. He didn't know what took over his mind, his body, his soul, but he couldn't and didn't want to stop it.

His lips touched hers in a blink on an eye, desperate to feel her and taste her. She felt his lips soft against her own, warm and inviting, they danced together as if they belonged there, as if they simply fit in. Joan was surprised by her own action but none of it felt wrong, she felt a warm feeling deep inside of her she couldn't quite recognize and it made her feel alive.

He made her feel alive. This stranger, this man she barely even knew made her feel whole and she was scared of falling.

He pulled away slowly, his hands firmly on her hips and his lips warm.

"I'm sorry." she whispered. "I don't want you to think I do this all the time, kiss strangers in the middle of the street."

"I don't." he answered. "Just like I don't kiss strangers either."

She sighed heavily, taking a few steps away from him, reminding herself she wasn't supposed to be doing this, no matter how right she felt it was.

"I have to go." she told him. He nodded. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry."

She turned away, taking quick strides towards anywhere her feet wanted to lead her, her heart pounding hard in her chest, her head spinning and wondering. He stood behind her, frozen as she disappeared through the crowd, too dismayed to make his body function. The stranger that had turned his whole life around was no longer visible, his heart crushed into a million pieces.

**Tbc.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Okay so this story is short, its only _four chapters long_ because this was not planned at all. it was never my intention to write this, but somehow I still felt the need to write it to explain how they became a couple in my other stories. So yeah...this one is short. **

**thanks for reading and reviewing!**

**Fran**

* * *

Joan met Emily two hours after she had left Steve. Her heart was racing, her cheeks flustered with past memories of their brief encounter. She wasn't like that at all, she didn't go around making out with men she barely knew, and neither did she feel attracted to them. But there was something about this one, something she couldn't deny pulled her towards him, something beyond her own reasoning; he was different, she could sense it.

She found Emily fast asleep on the couch, and even though she was eager to tell her about who she had met, she wasn't going to wake her up. So she went to sleep, her mind immediately drifting to a peaceful dream.

* * *

The sunlight peeked through the curtain, caressing her face with its warmth. She stretched on her bed, pulling the covers once she was satisfied she felt comfortable enough.

She heard noise outside her room, meaning Emily was already up and wandering around. The eagerness she felt the night before had returned, Joan was content to share her experience with her friend, mainly because she was certain she was as desperate to know as she imagined.

Joan stepped out of her room and greeted her friend with a warm smile.

"Good morning." Emily told her. "Slept well?'

"Yes, I did." Joan responded, not exactly telling her friend why but she sensed by the way she was smiling mischievously at her, she knew the reason.

"Care to tell me what you did last night?"

"Nothing."

"Really?" Emily asked her, not quite convinced with her answer.

"Well I met someone." Joan told her, smiling widely. She sat on the stool at the kitchen, Emily taking two cups and pouring coffee into them. She waited impatiently for Joan to speak.

"You know I want to know everything. Now spill it out."

"His name is Steve." Joan told her, still smiling, butterflies slowly creeping in her stomach at the thought of him. She felt like a teenager all over again. Part of her heart was amazed she felt like that for a man she didn't know. "He's British. He used to work as a consultant detective for Scotland Yard."

"He's a detective?" Emily asked her, surprised.

"No, I mean not one with a gun and badge anyways. He told me he helped them solving cases, but that's about it."

"And you believed him?"

"Why wouldn't I? Look, I know when someone is lying, I mean I can tell." Joan explained her. Still her friend looked not quite convinced. "Anyways, he's staying here for a while"

"Did you get his number?"

Joan froze, replaying last night's events she recalled not saying or asking anything. Neither did he. She was too shocked after the kiss to say something, and he probably was too surprised by her quick departure.

Now she felt stupid.

"No, I didn't." she murmured, holding her head between her hands, feeling as dumb as ever. "I'm an idiot."

"Well, I can't tell you that you aren't because that would be a lie."

"How could I not have asked for his number?" She complained. "What are the chances of me seeing him again? Slim to none. Even if I try looking for him, I don't even know his last name, there's no way in hell how would succeeded."

"You have the worst luck ever, I give you that much. I mean, you never meet anyone you can possibly be interested in, but when you finally do, you forget to ask for his number." Emily stated, clearly it did not make her feel any better. "Sorry sweetie"

"Yeah. I'm sorry too." she sighed. "Well I have to go, I'm meeting my new client today. Sherlock Holmes."

"What kind of name is Sherlock?" Emily asked her. Joan shrugged, remembering she had asked the same question to her friend at the rehab center, no one had an answer either.

"I have no idea, I'm about to find out, though." Joan told her, slowly getting up from her seat and walking towards the bathroom for a quick shower.

* * *

The cold wind of the city crashed against her cheeks and send a shiver down her spine. She walked among the sea of people with quick steps, most of them were early runners, when the rest were man and female wearing fancy suits and briefcases. It was the busiest day of the week; Monday. Most people were eagerly walking towards their place of work, like she did. Though it was highly unplanned, she had received a phone call from the clinic where her client was staying, letting her know he had runaway even when he was about to be released the same day. She had to make her shower shorter to find him.

She did, eventually, when she had managed to find his address she had noticed he had left to his house.

She walked in, the door cracked behind her but the old house was completely empty.

"Hello?" she yelled, peeking into the parlor receiving no response at all. She wandered around for a few second, until she decided to go to the second floor. The room filled with different voices, clearly from the TV or more than one.

When she walked into the room from where the voices were coming, she found five TVs on and a shirtless tattooed man standing in front of them. She couldn't see his face and clearly he hadn't noticed her walking in, or maybe he ignored her. Either way she stepped further in, the room filled with noise she for a moment lost track, but still she spoke to let herself known.

"Excuse me, Mr…"

The man slowly turned around and Joan's heart stopped beating when their eyes meet.

"Joan?" he whispered, momentarily frozen on his spot.

"Steve…" she spoke but suddenly everything hit her. She took two steps back, walking as far away from him as possible, angry and disappointed at herself for being so foolish. "Or should I call you Sherlock Holmes?"

He looked down at his hands, sighing as she said his name. He knew, right there when his eyes met hers once again, that he had made a big mistake, that his lie had been pointless and meaningless.

"I can explain, I really can." He took two steps towards her, but she stepped away.

"What is there to explain? That you lied to me about your name? Or that you probably go around making up stories to get into women's pants?" she snapped, tears suddenly running down her cheeks. She wiped them away angrily. The last thing she wanted was for him so see her weak, but she was heartbroken and disappointed. All thoughts about him being special immediately vanished.

"It's the first time I did it, believe it or not." Sherlock responded. "I couldn't just tell you I was out a rehab center, so I…lied."

"About everything…"

"No, I didn't lie about me. About who I am." he whispered."I'm sorry…"

"God, I can't believe this." she told him.

"I'm sorry."

She stared at him, at his eyes she had been so crazy about the previous night, suddenly her mind drifted to their kiss and how she'd dreamed about it, and how strangely right it felt. Now her heart broke because the man she had met last night was not the man she thought.

"I think I should leave." she told him, turning around towards the stairs quickly, not giving him time for him to respond.

Joan still heard him walking behind her as she walked the stairs, and before she could reach the doorknob he stopped her. His hands resting on top of hers. She felt a shiver running down her spine as it came in touch with her trembling hands.

"Don't go." he murmured. She swallowed hard, momentarily considering staying but quickly changing her mind. She was angry; she couldn't face him and pretend she wasn't. "Please…"

"You lied to me, right to my face and you didn't care what I was feeling or anything at all. I can't face you right now, I can't."

She spoke, her back still to him, before walking out. Closing the door behind her.

**tbc**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I know you're all gonna kill me after this, but this is the final chapter. I will, however, continue writing more but only one shots and the next one (about episode 2) is the continuation of this. So please wait for it if you're interested, okay? **

**Thank you for reading and reviewing. I love you all**

**Fran**

* * *

Joan closed the door hard behind her, dropping her bag and coat as she stepped in the safety of her home. Emily peeked from the kitchen, frowning as she saw her roommate and friend dragging her feet towards the couch. She frowned, it was way too early for her to be home so she immediately sensed something had gone terribly wrong with her new client.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she noticed the redness of her friends eyes and the tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.

"What happened?"

Joan pondered for a minute. How could she explain to her friend, with few details, what had happened to her and how foolish she felt? There were no words, no clear explanation as to why she had fallen for that man so easily even though she barely knew him, to her and to many, Sherlock Holmes was just a client. To her, on the other hand, he was the man she had come to love briefly the night before and who was now becoming a pain in her heart.

So she summarized everything as much as she could. The reaction she got from Emily was the one she had predicted; pure shock.

"So, let me get this straight. Steve is Sherlock Holmes?" Emily asked her, Joan merely nodded slowly. "How? I mean why? Why would he lie?"

"I don't know." Joan responded. "And quite frankly I don't care."

"What do you mean, you don't care? What about your job?"

"Well, I don't know. I can get another client, I can…I don't know, do something else." She sighed, holding her head between her hands. She bit her lip, because she knew talking about Sherlock or Steve or whatever his name was, would only bring sadness and anger to her mind. Also it would mean she was going to start crying in any minute.

"Joan, this is your job." Emily told her, taking a sit next to her on the couch. "You can't just walk away like that."

"And what am I supposed to do, huh?" Joan asked her, tears slowly falling down her cheeks. "Just go to him and pretend I don't feel the way I feel?"

"How do you feel?"

Emily was so blunt with her question, it took Joan by surprise. At first she hadn't considered feeling anything, they barely even knew each other and feeling something for a stranger was virtually impossible, but if she denied her feelings for him she would not only be lying to her friend but also to herself. She knew there was a connection, she couldn't ignore it before she wasn't going to ignore it now. Sherlock was special, lies or no lies, the brief moment they met he had created something between them she knew she couldn't easily forget.

"I like him." Joan responded, truthfully. "I like him and I know it doesn't make sense because we only saw each other once, but I do, and to be honest I don't think I'll be able to let this go. At least not now."

"So you really think quitting will make things easier?" Emily asked her. "Leaving without asking him why he did what he did, will not let you rest easier."

Emily was right (like many times before) though Joan was pretty certain of all decisions she made about her life, like becoming a sober companion, but sometimes an advice from her best friend was indeed very handy.

So she came to terms with her mind, and her heart.

* * *

Another one of Emily's advices Joan immediately took was to not wait for a day, or two or three. She'd told her it would be better if she did things at once, otherwise her mind would eat her alive.  
Joan sighed heavily as she stood outside the brownstone. Rethinking over and over the words she had planned to say to him, hesitating for a brief second whether to knock or not. The door suddenly opened and whatever doubt she had vanished upon seeing his surprised face.

"Joan." he spoke, the mention of her name sent shivers down her spine.

"Can I come in? I think we need to talk." she told him. He stepped aside to let her in, closing the door when she walked inside. He leaded her into the parlor, his hand behind her back pushing her softly. Again a shiver ran through her body, feeling the heat of his palm through the layers of clothing.

She stayed frozen in the middle of the room. Joan was unable to speak as he wandered around, picking up clothes as he walked, rearranging the cushions and chairs, taking plates and cups from the small living room table. She noticed he may have not cleaned in days, the room was dark, curtains closed allowed the minimum of light and she wondered how could he possibly be living like this.

He left the room for a few minutes, and Joan took the opportunity to take a deep breath and calm the rapid beating of her heart.

"I've been thinking," she spoke suddenly. Sherlock pulled a chair for her to sit and he sat in front of her on the couch. Their knees were barely touching, she noticed how he had moved her chair gradually closer to him before she could sit. He had done it so they could be closer. She could have moved, but there was a need to feel him closer she couldn't disregard. "About this…about me being your sober companion, and…I'm not quitting."

"You're staying."

"I'm not doing this for you." she spoke quickly. "I'm not staying her for me either. I'm staying because this is my job, because your father asked me. I'm not staying for you."

He shifted on the couch, laying back, putting a small distance between them. She knew she was being harsh, but to her it was the only way for her to do this job, putting some distance between them, otherwise her job could not be done.

"And I would like for us to put this aside." she continued. "Everything that happened between us. How we met, the day we met and…what happened afterwards"

"You mean the kiss." he interrupted her. She blushed despite herself, looking down at her hands resting on her lap. There was no need for her to look at him to know he was smirking proudly, his mission of making her feel embarrassed a success.

"I mean everything, Sherlock." she murmured, lifting her head to look at him. "I'm a professional. I'm good at what I do, I can't jeopardize my work because of this…"

"So we're going to pretend we never met? We never went out? We never walked around the streets of New York, holding hands and that I never kissed you?"

"And also that you never lied and pretended to be someone that you're not." she finished for him. He sat quiet on his seat, sighing heavily as she spoke.

"I already said I was sorry."

"Yet it doesn't change the fact that you lied." she told him. "And I believed you. I guess its my fault to. I trust people too quickly."

"Look…" he moved closer, their knees touching again, her hands firmly in his warm ones. She could have pulled away, just like she could have stayed at home and look for an excuse not to work with him, but her heart didn't let her. Not before, not now. "I know I made a mistake, I know I should have told you who I was, but for that moment, for that night I just wanted to be someone else. Not for you, not because I wanted to 'get into your pants', but because I wanted to forget about me. About everything I was. I never thought I would meet anyone, I didn't mean to. But then I met you and…I lost myself. I know it's not an excuse, and you have every right to be angry or even despise me, but I just wanted to say I'm truly sorry."

"Fine…" she breathed. "But I already told you we're gonna put all this behind us. We have to…"

"If that's what you want."

"It's what I need." she told him. "It's what we both need if we want to make this work."  
He nodded and they stared at each other for a few minutes before she stood up and walked away from him slowly. Sherlock imitated her movements, following her as she made her way towards the door.

"I'm going to get my things." she told him, standing by the door. "I will only be with you for six weeks, as your father must have informed you by email, and will help you in your recovering process."

He watched her in silence as she spoke, Joan couldn't help but feel something building slowly deep within her as his eyes pierced her very soul. She feared if she didn't move quickly, all the promises she'd made about forgetting would be broken.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours." she spoke, opening the door quickly and walking out of the brownstone.

Sherlock stood inside, resting his head against the closed door as Joan left. His own heart racing uncontrollably inside his chest.

**The end.**

**You're all free to kill me now. **


End file.
